Chapter 3 — Judgment in the Mist

Phantom emerged from the rift in reality and stepped into the Forest of Whispers.

The air was thick.
Heavy with moisture.
And silence.

No birds sang.
No leaves rustled without permission.

He surveyed his surroundings.
No signs of life.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Rin’s ribbon.
Held it between his fingers for a moment.

They didn’t tremble.
They simply burned with stillness.

“Find the owner of this object…”

“Search!”

From the center of the ribbon, a thin red thread emerged—vibrant, taut, alive.
It stretched out straight between the trees, pulsing with urgency.

“Rin… I hope I’m not too late,” he murmured.

And then he ran.

Like a shadow among shadows, Phantom glided through the forest—soundless, traceless.

The red thread shortened rapidly.

Closer.

Until finally—he saw it.

A caravan.

Three wagons were moving along a lightly traveled path.

The one in the middle, ornate and reinforced, screamed of wealth and arrogance.

The other two, plain but sturdy, served as escort.

Phantom slipped into the densest treetops. Still. Invisible among the leaves.

“Counting the three drivers… there must be at least thirteen guards.”

He placed a hand calmly on the hilt of his katana.

His fingers rested there—light, precise.

And with a motion as soft as a breath, he drew and sheathed the blade in one seamless strike.

Click.

“Triple Dimensional Slash!”

At first—nothing happened.

Then, the ropes binding the horses snapped cleanly—cut with absolute precision.

Where they severed, frost began to bloom.
As if time itself paused to understand what had just occurred.

The horses neighed, restless.
Then bolted in opposite directions, unleashing chaos.

The wagons jolted.
Stopped.
Disorganized.

“We’re under attack!! Protect the boss!!” shouted one of the drivers, sword drawn.

In seconds, the guards dismounted as if it were a rehearsed maneuver.

They regrouped.

From above, Phantom counted.

Six soldiers.
Four mages.
Two archers on the rooftops.

And at the center. A burly man with partial armor and a greatsword slung over his shoulder.

He wasn’t preparing to defend.

He stood tall.
Confident.
Defiant.

An ex-general… or maybe a rank A—possibly S—adventurer.

Phantom knew one thing about men who wielded greatswords:

They relied too much on brute strength. And died believing it would be enough.

“I can’t use Dimensional Storm… Rin might get caught in it.”

“The logical move is to take them out one by one—before they can coordinate.”

He descended to the ground like a weightless shadow.

No one noticed.

The soldiers, torches in hand, searched for the source of the attack…

But that was the essence of Dimensional Slash:
You never knew where it came from.

Phantom gripped his katana by the hilt.

The cold around him deepened.
His breath came out in thicker and thicker clouds.

“Frozen Mist.”

From his feet, like a white tide, the fog began to spread.

Slow.
Unstoppable.

It engulfed the caravan.

The air turned heavy.
Sharp.

The soldiers struggled to breathe.
The wagon windows started frosting over with ice.

“Defensive Formation Rhombus-3! Mages, fire spells now! We’ve got a Yuki in the area!” shouted the greatsword-wielding man.

“Just as I thought... a man with real experience. Fair enough, nobles usually hire the best,” Phantom murmured within the mist.

The fog wrapped around him. With it, his coat changed color—now pure white.
He blended into the vapor.
Became part of the air.

A sharp sound cracked behind the general.

“Was that one of the archers? Mages, cast your barriers now! We’re—!”

No response.

Only the sounds.
One by one.

Bodies collapsing. Thuds. Choked gasps never fully formed.

By the time the mist began to lift, Phantom was already sitting atop a rock.

His katana still sheathed.

His white mask calmly in place.

And all around him… Bodies.

Lifeless.
Silent.
Perfectly dead.

The greatsword man finally saw him.

He was breathing hard. His eyes sharp as blades.

“You don’t look like a Yuki… but those powers” he spat. “They’re just like the ones from Yukihana.”

“You’re not just anyone,” Phantom said with a neutral tone.

“That’s why I spared you. A former general deserves a more dignified death.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve survived hundreds of fights. These scars—” he said, pointing to one on his cheek, “are proof.”

“Any last words?”

The man let out a dry laugh.

“Hah… You say that like you’ve already won, faceless man.”

“Only cowards hide behind a mask.”

Phantom removed the mask with a single motion.

His face was young. Unmoving. Cold as his blade.

“I don’t hide. I simply show the world… that judgment has begun.”

“But look at you… you’re the Sinclair brat. What are you, fifteen?”

Phantom said nothing.

He just stared.

Like he already knew how this would end.

“Doesn’t matter,” the man scoffed, driving his greatsword into the ground with a grin.

“I am Alester Von Marcus. Former General of Cegris. Second Shock Division.”

“Fast Boost. Boost Physical Ability. Overload. Fast Attack. Magic Resist. Brave Heart. Anti-Element. Critical Chance. Magic Reflect. Defense Boost.”

His body began to glow.

Each buff reinforced his armor. His muscles. His belief that he could still win.

“I’ve never lost a fight. That’s why I’m Sir Lucian’s personal bodyguard.”

Phantom watched in silence.

Almost with fascination.

“Are you finished?” he asked, calmly.

Alester raised his greatsword and sneered:

“Come on, brat. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Phantom rose to his feet. Unhurried.

He unsheathed his katana completely.

Their blades clashed. Sparks flew.

Ren moved like living mist. He slipped backward with each strike. Shifted angles. Looking for cracks.

Alester held his ground. He didn’t budge. But Ren’s speed was unnatural. As if he were teleporting between blind spots.

“It’s over,” Phantom said.

“Over? You haven’t even touched me!”

Alester stepped forward.

And then… he felt it.

A thin line of blood trickled down his cheek.

“…What? What is this? He didn’t touch me!”

He raised a hand.

It fell to the ground—cleanly severed.

Then… he saw it.

A white thread, thinner than a hair, wrapped around him. His blood traced along it. As if it had already claimed him.

“You bastard! It was all a trap!”

“Sorry,” Phantom replied, calm. “I don’t have time for games.”

“And I can’t leave witnesses.”

With a flick of his fingers, the threads tightened.

Alester was sliced into hundreds of fragments. Silent. Perfect.

His blood spilled like a ritual.

“I offer these souls to Shion… Goddess of Death,” Phantom murmured, placing the mask back over his face.

He sheathed his katana.

Then approached the main carriage.

With one swift kick, he blew the door open.

Inside, Rin lay asleep—peacefully, unnaturally warm. Likely magic-induced.

Lucian, pale and trembling, cowered in the corner.

“W-Who are you?! Who sent you?! I’ll pay you double! Take anything you want! Just don’t kill me!” he begged, pushing forward a chest overflowing with gold.

Phantom didn’t answer right away.

“My name is Phantom. I serve Shion.”

“If you ever do something like this again… I will claim your life in her name.”

“Y-Yes! I swear!” Lucian stammered, conviction nowhere in sight—only fear.

Phantom tilted his head slightly.

“I see… so that’s how it is. What a shame.”

He opened a rift beside him.

Tossed the chest of gold inside.

Then gently lifted Rin into his arms.

“I’m taking this child. Her parents must be worried.”

“Y-Yes, take her! Just don’t hurt me!”

Phantom didn’t reply.

And just like that he vanished into the darkness.

Lucian let out a long, shaky breath.

“I need to get back to Urus... report this to the authorities.”

“Someone like that… can’t be allowed to roam free...”

From the top of a nearby tree, Phantom watched him.

Silently.

“Did you really think I’d let you go… after kidnapping my sister?”

He held Rin in one arm.

With the other, he gripped his still-sheathed katana.

With a sharp motion…

“Dimensional Storm.”

Hundreds of invisible slashes tore through the wagons, ripped through the ground,
and ended Lucian’s life…

Without so much as a scream.

Hours later, Ren returned to his secret base.

He hid the gold. Stored away the katana. Placed the mask back in its resting place.

He left the barn… as if nothing had happened.

With Rin still asleep in his arms and a lantern in hand, he walked back to the Sinclair house.

He knocked on the door.

A second later, his family crowded the entrance.

“Mom… we’re back,” he said with a calm smile.

Emilia burst into tears. She clung to Rin with desperate relief.

“My sweet Rin… thank the gods…”

“Where was she?” Rei asked, brow furrowed.

“I found her asleep in the woods,” Ren replied.

“An adventurer helped me track her down.”

His brother stared at him for a few seconds longer.

Suspicious.

But no one said anything.

They were all too relieved.
Too happy.
Too blind.

Ren watched his mother walk away with Rin in her arms.

“Mom…”

She turned back, still crying.

“I’ve decided what I want to do.”

Everyone turned toward him.

“I want to become an adventurer.”

Silence fell like a held breath.

No one expected it.

The third son.
The farmhand.
The invisible one.

For the first time… he spoke of a future.

And not a single one of them—for even a moment—realized he was already writing his legend.